Her Angel's Wings Stirring
by Phantom531
Summary: Christine returns to Paris...and to Erik. While she knows she cannot stay, she cannot leave him behind again; he knows he can't keep her, but he fears letting her go. Still, goodbye is ominously eminent... Rated M for Drama and Sex I DON'T OWN ANYTHING
1. Homecoming

Her Angel's Wings Stirring

Christine awoke with a start. She could hear Raoul's easy breathing beside her. His dreams never seemed haunted at all. Hers were always filled with the angel she left.

It had been 5 years since they had fled Paris, 4 years since they were married, less than 3 since she had lost their only child. Christine's dreams also were haunted by the cries of a dead child, one that never was born. Her Angel and her unborn baby, two people she had abandoned.

Everyone had been badly ill. Christine herself could not remember the miscarriage. The fever burned through her body and mind, and all she could recall were raving dreams of fire and death. Near the end, as she began to surface to consciousness, she could hear his voice, Erik's voice, her angel's voice. His voice cooling her searing body, soothing away the aches, and bringing her delirious mind back to the surface. As she learned that the fever had taken the unborn baby inside her, Erik's voice seemed to echo in her head once more. Through the memory of that voice, she somehow found the will to live again, to recover the pieces of her broken heart. Since then, Raoul had become distant, more somber. The entire house seemed shrouded in sorrow. Raoul began a successful business, the details of which she could never really understand, and had begun to travel with it. She always believed it was his way of avoiding the house. Avoiding her. Did he blame her, or was he so lost in his own grief and despair at possibly never being able to conceive another child that he felt as lost as she did? She never asked and she knew, even if she did, he would not answer her truthfully.

She slid out of bed, dressed slowly. It was barely light outside, not even 6 AM. She liked mornings like this. It reminded her of, when her father was alive; they would travel the countryside, finding fairs to perform at. Later, after her father died, she'd gone to live with a benefactor of her fathers, Mama Valerius. In the mornings, the old woman showed her how to make her own sausages for breakfast and showed her the magic time when there was both sun and moon in the sky. Then, she too passed away. When she sat in her room in Erik's house, knowing it was morning, but having no way to tell except her little watch and Erik's musical habits. Yes, mornings _had_ been a happy time for her. Now they were merely a time to remember the painful past.

Raoul would be awake soon and, later in the day, ready to leave again for the longest he'd ever been gone. He mentioned something about bringing her something home from New York, but she'd dismissed it from her mind. She had been learning English and, in a different time, would have begged and begged to go. Now, she was quite glad to have the house to herself. She loved Raoul, he was her husband, and that would never change. But something else had. And somehow Christine knew Raoul would not even say goodbye to her before he left.

Just after her husband finally left in the morning, she had just retreated to the library, hiding from the world amongst the books, when a young maid hurried in.

"Oh, ma'am! I'm so sorry to disturb you, but this is quite urgent!" she gasped.

"It's alright, dear, what is it?" Christine asked. The girl held out a letter in a trembling hand, holding it away from her as if it were a hideous insect.

"The man who delivered it was quite upset! He's in the kitchen now, ma'am! Oh, he's half dead with fear and tire!" the maid rambled on. Christine glanced at her.

"Whatever is the matter?" she asked.

"Oh, ma'am! He's ranting of a ghost- a dead man who bade him deliver this letter as fast as the house could carry him!" the maid quailed, reminding Christine suddenly of Meg when she'd spoken of the Opera Ghost when they were younger, "He told me he's ridden from Paris in only a day!" The maid crossed herself hastily and fled down the hallway. Christine stepped back and tore open the letter.

_ Dearest Christine,_

_I'm sorry to write on such sorrowful circumstances, indeed our reunion should be under happier days. My mother is quite ill and not expected to live. She wishes to see you before she passes. Please come soon. _

_There are also other issues to be discussed. Such as who ordered this letter sent. You will know who that is, if the rider's reaction is what I believe it will be. Please come soon. We live in the same flat as always, I know it will be hard, but please, please come!_

_-Meg Giry_

After 5 years. How could she say no? The woman who took her in after her father died and Mama Valerius had become too old and feeble to care for her. But that meant returning to Paris. And in that, returning to Erik.

He was always cold these days.

It had been 5 years since he lost her. His beautiful little Christine, the only woman in the world who loved him. The Persian had long since taken his leave, off to some foreign country, and the Girys had retreated to their home. He was alone. As always, as forever.

Erik curled himself tighter. Why so cold now? _Because you're dying, you idiot!_ he thought to himself, really without much care. His mask itched on his face. He'd forgotten he was wearing it; he really didn't wear it much anymore. He barely left the catacombs and when he did, he kept to the sewers. Lately, the constant pressure on his chest, the wheezing breath, and the nausea kept him from moving much at all. No, it would not be long now.

The Opera House had nicely forgotten him and had stopped looking for him almost three years ago. Just as well. He'd learn to live with being ignored, invisible, and alone in the solitude of his entire life. Until that beautiful, shining, sweet soprano burst into his life. And he had let her go because he loved her so much. 5 years! _For the sake of __whatever god might reside above, why on earth haven't you decided to either let yourself die or killed yourself right off?_ He asked himself ruefully. _Because she might come back._

Then little Meg Giry, now a young woman engaged to some well-mannered, boring, young, ballet-fanatic of a boy, came seeking him out, nearly drowning herself in the lake. She well could have drowned, if he hadn't heard the boat tip over and come to her rescue. She'd come to beg him to deliver a message. She sobbed that her mother was dying and of how her mother had helped him while she worked in the opera house. That Christine might now come if she didn't know he was alive and, in any case, only he could get the messenger to ride fast enough.

He had ushered the poor sobbing girl back to the opposite bank and 'politely' requested haste from the rider she indicated. The poor man took such a fright that Erik was worried he'd either faint on the way or ride the horse to death.

What if she doesn't come back? What if she decides she doesn't want to come back, doesn't want to see me? Then a worse thought invaded: _What if she did_? Oh, now he truly wanted to just toss himself in the lake! Would she _want_ to see him if she came back? Would he be able to stand it if she returned but refused to see him? If she did, if she returned and came to see him, what then? How could he face her? After what he did to her, how could he stare into those beautiful blue eyes and feel no shame? After everything he had done, she had kissed him, held him. Now, after 5 years of dying in this cold, bleak darkness, his light could be coming back, but that only seemed to make the emptiness darker. Erik curled up tighter on the bed, wrapped himself in a blanket, and cried.

It rained the entire day and a half ride to Paris. Christine found herself wondering if it was a portent of things to come. The inn she had stopped at was apparently filled with theater fans and two even remembered her. She had excused herself from their well-meant compliments and questions, saying that she had ended her career for her health and marriage, and slipped away to her room. Sleep was fretful- she felt terrible. Poor Mme Giry! The old woman had been so kind to her, and yet all she could think of was Erik! Her heart felt heavy and she thought she would be swallowed forever in sorrow. Alone in her room, she felt lonesome, as lonesome as she had ever been after her father died. Yet, even then, Erik's voice had always been there. Now, there was really nothing but silence, broken only by the remembered voice in her head.

The next afternoon, the carriage pulled up in front of the Giry's building. Christine paid the driver and went inside. The building was the same as ever, the same plain gray walls, the same smell. The flat was still the fifth door on the left, and Meg still answered it. The petite, thin form that answered was also just as she remembered, if a little paler.

"Oh Christine!" Meg gasped, and fell sobbing and swooning in Christine's arms.

"I came back." Christine said, dumbly. She was overwhelmed. Meg was now almost taller than she, a few inches of late growth seemed to have snuck into her thin little bones. Her face was now drawn and creased with sorrow and there were dark shadows under her eyes, making her already large eyes appear even bigger.

"Christine! I went to_ him_ to get you the letter! We thought you would never come back if you didn't know…Mother told me so! And oh, my mother, oh, she's been so ill, Christine! She told me, though, she would refuse the very Lord Almighty to see you again!" the younger girl twittered.

"May I see her, or is she resting?" Christine asked.

"Oh, she told me the very moment you arrived you were to be shown right to her!" answered little Meg. She rushed Christine almost roughly up to a little plain room. Mme Giry lay on a narrow bed against the far wall. The odd smell of sickness struck Christine and for a moment a rush of images of her own delirious hallucinations during her own illness assaulted her. She leaned against the wall for support for a moment.

"Is that Christine? Why, come here, child!" the voice that rose from the figure on the bed was dry and raspy, like wind in reeds. Christine slowly approached the bed and seated herself in the small wooden chair by the head.

"Yes, it's me. I've come home." she answered softly.

"I know. Home to him, as well as me, I think. I told Meg to ask him to deliver the letter." Giry answered. Christine was taken aback.

"No! I have come to see you! You have been so kind to me!" Christine cried.

"Oh, now, you are precious to me, dear. And I did call you back so I could see you once again. You're a like another daughter to me and I wanted to see you. But so will he!" Giry persisted.

"You've spoken?"

"Ah, we've kept contact over time here and there. He never left the Opera House. He destroyed his home, but still lives there. He's ill; he's dying, like I am. You must see him again, child. For both of you!" the old woman wheezed.

"I…I-"

"You love him and he loves you. What else in the world is worth risking everything for? You're going whether you like it or not!" Giry snapped. Then she settled back and her expression softened.

"He deserves a last chance at happiness, Christine. I didn't know him quite as well as you did, but I know that he is not the monster everyone thought him to be. He deserves to have some love in his life. And so do you."

Christine left the room pale and disturbed. She then began to hesitantly walk down the street- towards the Opera House.

The voice was soft at first. Erik buried himself deeper in the thin blanket, pressing his face into the last dress he'd saved from Christine's dressing room when she had left. Then it was there again. Someone calling his name. Hallucinations…perhaps he was finally dying. Suddenly there was a soft hand on his cheek. Tears falling on his face. He opened his eyes slowly. It couldn't be!

"I'm home, Erik." she whispered, her sweet voice choked with tears. He reached out, stroked her hair, and touched her face. She was real, no hallucination!

"Christine…I…" he gasped in shock. His heart seemed to catch in his throat. No words could come out. At first, he thought his heart was seizing again, but it was not. It was just _her. _He pulled himself into a sitting position and simply stared at her, one hand still resting on her cheek. He suddenly realized he hadn't replaced his mask and felt the need to replace it, although she had not shown fear of the deformity in a long time. He instinctually moved to cover his face in his hands, but her hands pressed his away. Then, suddenly, she wrapped her arms around him and held him against her. He rested his head on her shoulder. Yes, she was home.


	2. Conversations and Questions

Christine woke softly this time. She was still curled around Erik's arm. He lay next to her, half lost in the folds of her dress. She sat up, smoothing her clothing as she rose.

"I still can't believe you came back." he whispered, startling her.

"I thought you were still asleep. I'm sorry if I-"

"No, I wasn't. Resting, but not asleep." he answered. He sat up with some difficulty. Christine could see a strain in his movements, and weakness in his posture. There was a breathlessness to the way he spoke, as if he could not breathe: Mme Giry had been right, he was very ill.

"You're not well, Erik. How long has it been since you've eaten anything? How have you lived like this?" she asked. She took in the wreckage of the apartments. The organ's keyboard was broken in half, broken glass from the mirror in what had been her room was strewn across the floor, and broken objects were thrown all over. There were still spots of blood on the floor where she had struck her head in a futile attempt to take herself away from the horrible choice he set before her. The wall hangings, sculptures, everything in the house was broken and thrown about.

"Eaten? I don't know. Not for some time. I…well, I haven't cared much, to tell you the truth." he answered. A cynical note crept into his voice. He shut his eyes and concentrated on the joy of having her back, however short the visit, pushing himself not to dwell on things he could not change. Christine sighed and the sorrow in that soft breath could have ripped his heart in two.

"You're angry with me?" she murmured, sounding very much like a little girl who hadn't the faintest idea she'd done wrong.

"No, Christine. Not now, not really. I missed you." Erik answered. He was wheezing terribly again, having to concentrate on breathing. With every breath he caught her scent. Between the onrush of emotion and the mere presence of her, he was biting his lip to bleeding to keep from either suffocating himself or forcing himself on her. His fists clenched and his eyes squeezed tighter. Christine obviously took his reaction for pain and leaned over him, easing him back to the bed. Her hair brushed over his face. Oh, this is too much! He roughly cast her away from him, toppling off the bed himself in the process. His chest seized, the mask slipped away from his face. Her hands were on him again, pulling him up. He tried to push her away but the terrible pressure building in his chest was choking him and the nausea that came with it made the room spin.

"No, no, Christine! I…."

"Erik, you're in no condition to hurt me. You're not even in any condition to move. Now lay down!" she ordered. The mere shock of her taking charge nearly knocked him back to the bed on its own. She was no longer a child, she was a woman, and for that there would be no arguing with her.

Christine strolled slowly down the marketplace. The basket she carried was nearly full. Erik was back in bed, sleeping, when she had left. The odd illness was worrying her badly. She bought some tea and some herbs to give him, as well as all the food she could afford. She hoped he could repair what he had done to what passed for a kitchen in the house. She made her way through the market, basket swinging on her arm, lost in thought. She loved Raoul so very much, he was her husband, and a friend since childhood. But Erik! He was a different case all together, the musician and tutor she always needed and, in a way, the mysterious love she wanted. Raoul's recent aloofness had put a strain on her heart and their marriage. Was she turning to Erik simply as an escape from Raoul's indifference? She was so lost in thought she almost tripped over the step to the Opera House, soon to begin rebuilding. It was still empty, though, thank goodness! The plans were new and rebuilding would not start for another few months. She found herself wondering what would happen to Erik if they did rebuild. She slipped in through a side door and down into the cellars and set her mind on the task now before her. Erik was dying and in a way, unlike Mme Giry, she felt responsible. Considering the circumstances, she was surprised he was even alive at all.

He was awake and struggling to sit up when she returned. He almost seemed to freeze when he saw her.

"You…I…I thought you left for good. Again." he said, the cynicism seeping into his voice again. She dropped her head and sat down next to him.

"I bought some tea. I have food as well, and-"

"No, I don't want anything right now. I want to talk to you." he said. She gripped the handle of the basket and her eyes drifted down.

"You're a married woman, I assume?" he asked. He was digging deep right away and her sadness was apparent right away. She nodded stiffly and the wicker handle of the basket creaked under the pressure of her hands. He gently pulled it away from her.

"Stop that, you'll hurt yourself." he told her, matter of fatly.

"We…we were married a year after we left." Christine stammered. She was now gripping her skirts, her knuckles white. She was tense, almost frightened.

"Any children?" he asked, voicing the question that knifed through her heart. For a moment she froze completely. Her face turned chalky and the pain in her eyes was so powerful he moved back from her unconsciously, instantly regretting his question. Her lower lip trembled and she suddenly threw herself into his arms.

"Erik, there was a child. I was pregnant and I caught a terrible fever. The baby was never born." she sobbed. For a moment, Erik was shocked at the pain he felt for her, knowing her loss and knowing how much she must have hurt. He wrapped his arms around her, cursing himself for hurting her. He kissed the top of her head and let her cry for a moment.

"I'm so sorry, my love. Cry all you like, I'm here." He whispered, stroking her hair. She sighed, relaxing, almost melting into his arms.

"I so wanted to have that baby…and the only thing that made me feel better was remembering your voice, my Angel. You saved me!" she sobbed wretchedly. She snuggled into his chest, seeking comfort in the soft beat of his heart. The sobbing tapered off into mere sniffles. He sighed and wondered if she knew how incredible it was to have someone hug him, to seek comfort from him. His chest hurt where her head pressed against it, but he ignored it.

"Do you feel well enough for me to eat whatever you've brought in that little basket?" he asked. She gave him a smile, wiping her face with her little white hands. She had bought an impressive array of food and medicine, apparently rather intent on keeping him alive. He mentioned the thought to her and she gave him another smile, this one brighter. It stung his heart with the beauty of it. A tiny flash of hope that perhaps she would stay this time, perhaps he would live and she would be with him.

For several hours, they were talking and eating; he told her a story or two from the thousands in his head and she told him of the bustle of every-day life. He carefully skirted around her marriage, instead focusing her on her little distractions and hobbies, and how her voice was doing. She had been learning English and was quite good at it, almost fluent, a fact that made him unspeakably proud of her. Erik found –impossibly! - he was loving her more and more as they conversed. The way she laughed, how she leaned forward during a part in the story, all so beautiful! She sung a few new songs she had learned, although she mentioned she no longer performed. They even played a game she knew where she would sing a line, he would sing it back and add to it, she would sing both phrases and add more, until one of them missed forgot a phrase or missed a note. He, of course, beat her, but she didn't seem to mind and teased him that he was cheating.

He finally felt comfortable, happy, and normal. The bands of pain that had been squeezing his chest were beginning to release and he actually felt better than in some time. Hours of talking, until they were both stifling yawns, but he never wanted this to end. Couples talked like this, didn't they? Maybe…

"Why did you come back to me?" he asked suddenly. She froze where she sat on the floor.

"Erik, please-"

"Why did you come back?" he pressed. Her eyes wandered for a moment, seeming to look within. This lasted for some time and finally, her eyes focused on him, studying his face with a gaze so intense he actually dropped his eyes. He had not heard her move, but she now knelt before him, his hands held in hers.

"I came back because I need you. I missed you." she answered. She was just so close to him, he could feel her breath on his face. Her clear blue eyes met with his, sending a sudden jolt of electricity through his heart. His body tensed almost to the point of pain.

"Erik, I kept telling myself I didn't want to see you. But you were the only thing I came for! You've always been everything to me!" she breathed.

"Oh, Christine…" he whispered, his heart fluttering madly in his chest.

"You brought me back from the brink of death, and I knew that I should have stayed." She whispered. Before he could stop himself, he leaned in and kissed her.


	3. Finally Together WARNING: sex

As his lips closed over hers, he could feel her whisper the words he had been waiting to hear all his life, almost lost against his mouth,

"I love you." she whispered, pressing her lips harder against his. His entire body shook and he kissed back, tentatively. She murmured his name, her breath soft and warm against his ear. She seemed to be asking for something. Her fingers curled through his thin hair and he pulled away for a moment. Uncertainty flooded his brain and he was suddenly very frightened of what could happen with her.

"Christine… as much as I'd love… I…" he began, his tongue turning to clay in his mouth, trying to stop what he'd started. Her hands touched his face tenderly.

"What's the matter?" she asked. He tried to turn his head away, but she held him, not allowing him to look away from her.

"I should not have done that."

"Erik, I love you. Why don't you want to touch me?" she asked. He noticed suddenly he had been clenching his fists at his sides.

"Please, Christine, don't do this to me." He begged. He couldn't have this happen and lose her again. He shut his eyes, blocking out the fire he saw in hers. _It's the sorrow of whatever she's experiencing at home; she can't really want me this way! Oh, get away from her! _He thought wildly. He pushed her gently back from him, still trying to turn away.

"Erik, look at me." she whispered, climbing into his arms, pressing her body to his. He shuddered as she slid into his lap. He was losing control, decades of waiting building inside him. Still, he held back, almost pulling away. Her lips brushed against his neck and he jumped, almost knocking them both off the bed.

"What?" she asked. She kept kissing his neck. She moved up to his face, her lips caressing the deformity. The skin was oddly sensitive there and the feel of her lips against it made him swallow hard. Still, fear took over.

"Christine…Please…are you sure you want to do this? With me?" he asked. She laughed and continued kissing him.

"Who else would I want to do this with?" she teased, mouth on his cheek, slowly once again moving down his neck. The feel of her breath on his pulse made his body tense again and he was becoming aware that one of her legs was pressing against his groin. The sensation made him shiver. He tried to push her away. He _had_ started it, but there was no way he was going to do this to either of them!

"Your husband?" he answered, trying to pull them both back to reason. She frowned.

"Don't do that, Erik. Don't ruin the mood, my love. Please? You kissed me, I know you want this as much as I do." she said. She slid her hands inside his shirt, pulling it out of his pants.

"But, Christine…" he whispered. She shushed him gently, kissing him again. He was still frightened, nervous. She traced the outline of his body with her lands, and slyly ran her tongue up the pulse in his neck.

"Oh, Christine, please…Are you really sure?" he gasped.

"Erik, I'll tell you to stop if I change my mind. But I don't think that will happen." she said with a giggle. One of her hands worked into his pants, between his legs. Whatever resistance he had broke. He kissed her hard, driving his tongue into her mouth. He struggled out of his shirt, trying to keep his mouth locked to hers. She kissed back ferociously, her tongue exploring his mouth. His hands found her breasts and he was relieved to discover she wasn't wearing a corset. He began unclasping her dress, only to find he just couldn't undo the buttons fast enough. He pulled and the fabric tore. He flung the ruined garment aside, his hands returning to her body. Her hand was still on him, stroking him gently. He pulled his pants away, his hips bucking involuntarily, pressing himself into her hand. She wrapped her hand around him. His breath caught in his throat. He was so hard it was hurting him. He ran his hands over her body, silently asking permission. Her free hand guided his to her breasts. He roughly shoved her back on the bed, still kissing her. She shifted underneath him, her hand positioning him. He was panting, suddenly afraid again.

"I don't want to hurt you." he said, almost pulling back out of her hand. She pulled him back, driving a moan from him.

"Hurt me, Erik. I don't mind." she whispered against his ear. Her teeth bit down on his earlobe. He growled and thrust against her hand. She moved against him, kissed him again, and slid him inside her. He gasped sharply, the feel of being in her at last overpowering everything else. For a moment he thought he might climax from that alone. Her body moved against his. He began to thrust, uncertain, nervous. His body trembled. He was going slowly, afraid to lose control. Her tongue worked deeper into his mouth and her nails dug into his back. There was a shock of pain and control was lost. He became frantic, thrusting faster. He was still afraid he was hurting her, but he couldn't stop. Suddenly, she flipped him onto his back, riding his hips. She settled back on him, her body taking him entirely. A cry tore from his throat and he grabbed her hips, forcing himself deeper. Christine threw her head back, moans becoming screams. He discovered he was screaming, lost in the feeling of her. He sat up, pressing his face into her breasts, seizing a nipple in his teeth. She tangled her fingers into his hair, yanking roughly. He groaned and thrust faster. He pulled her underneath him again, desperately thrusting into her, his hands leaving bruises on her hips. He traced her body with his tongue, ending at her mouth, kissing her roughly again. Suddenly, her body clenched, arching against him, her legs locking around his waist. She screamed his name, her nails raking into his flesh. He was lost to her voice, the feel of being inside her. Oh God, he was so close… Her hips matched his, meeting his thrusts. His own climax hit him unexpectedly, exploding through his body in an overpowering wave. His entire body spasmed, his teeth locked down in her shoulder. He was still screaming, his voice muffled by her skin. He released her flesh, throwing his head back. He was going madly now, rhythm gone, riding out the orgasm. As it slowed, he collapsed onto her. He didn't withdraw from her yet. He just lay for a moment, enjoying the feel of being inside her for a little while longer. She let out a shuddering sigh. He smiled down at her, brushing damp locks of hair from her face.

"Thank you." he murmured. He kissed her gently.

"Thank you too." she said. She held him, nuzzling his neck.

"I love you so much! I've never…I've never done that before. Did I…Was it…" he whispered. She smiled.

"It was wonderful, Erik. Did you enjoy that?" she asked. He laughed.

"Of course, I did!" he said. He slowly pulled out of her and settled in next to her.

"I love you, Erik." she whispered. She snuggled her body, still moist with sweat, against his. He pulled a blanket over the two of them and kissed her forehead.

"I love you too, Christine." he whispered. One of her hands reached up, caressing the deformity of his face. He nuzzled it, her soft skin moving against the rough, unevenness of his own. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt the pain begging to seep back into his chest, but he refused to acknowledge it. He would not allow this moment to be destroyed by pain or weakness or death. She was finally his and he was going to keep it that way for as long as he could. He sighed, shifted against Christine and, pushing the pain away, fell asleep.

Erik lay still, trying not to wake completely and still contemplating the magnitude of what happened. Christine stirred on his shoulder, snuggling closer to him. He had never been undressed around anyone before- it was an odd feeling to him. Her body against his felt comfortable, but strange. Something he had been waiting for for so long…his heart pounded at the memory; just as incredible as making love to her were the words so softly whispered against his lips- he'd always known she loved him, but hearing it, hearing her say it- the power was unimaginable to him.

Her husband probably would not be pleased when he found out about all this. If. Erik didn't want to be responsible for hurting her again, but now that seemed quite unavoidable. He'd give his life, what left of it there was, to keep her from harm. Hopefully that would not include having to kill Raoul, although he was quite willing to do so. A sudden jolt of pain from his chest reminded him he might now have to wait too long before he didn't have to let her go, his traitorous body would do that on its own. He sighed and pulled her close. She sighed and murmured his name. How could he let her go back? If he did die, how could he without first knowing she was going to be safe and happy? What a fine mess they were all in now!


	4. Arguements and Illness

Christine shifted against Erik's body. Her muscles ached sweetly. Erik had been so tentative at first, then more and more passionate…and rough. She'd have bruises, and probably a bite-mark; and what was strange was that she didn't mind. It had never been like that with Raoul. Of course, she also didn't feel wracked with guilt afterwards. Warm and comfortable as she was, the guilt was cold behind her eyes. She was not married to Erik. She never could be. Yet, the misery of her marriage began to push back the cool pain of guilt. And Erik's body fit so well, so closely with hers. With a deep sigh, she resigned herself to Erik's embrace and fell back to sleep.

He felt her tense for a moment before she began to fall back to sleep. He knew that this was bothering her. He gently moved out from underneath her and got out of bed. He dressed slowly, his muscles still hurting. Adding to it all, he had seen bruises on her body and left a bite-mark on her shoulder. He hadn't meant to- he had gotten carried away with the intensity of it –and now he was really worried that he'd hurt her. Through it all, though, she had never told him to stop, never pulled away, or told him that she didn't like what he was doing. As he pulled on his shirt, he noticed that she scratched him, rather badly, across his back. He had been bleeding and now it hurt. Feeling better, chuckling to himself, he set bad thoughts aside for the time being and began cleaning up the apartments. No matter how short of a time she was staying, he wouldn't have her living in filth. He had to work slowly- the pleasant exertion of the night before had taken its toll and left him weak and his lungs strained. But he was going to do this nonetheless! For a short time, she could be his, and he was going to make damn sure she was happy during that time.

A sudden crash yanked Christine back to reality. The crash was swiftly followed by an ugly noise and cursing. Wrapping herself in a cloak left discarded on the floor, she edged into the other room. A broken candelabrum had toppled over and landed against the broken organ. Erik sat, looking rather displeased, in the center of the room. The house had been cleaned most of the way, although it seemed much of the mess had been shoved into a corner of the lake. Erik looked up as she approached, a scowl twisting the normal part of his face, barely visible around the askew mask, which he was straightening as she entered.

"I didn't mean to wake you. The bloody…" he trailed off, motioning angrily at the candelabra. He suddenly tossed the object he was holding against the wall, where it shattered loudly. Christine jumped and took a step back. He looked up at her and drew a deep sigh.

"I'm not angry at you. Please, go get dressed, I'll talk to you in a moment." he said. He still sounded quite angry, whether at her or not, his nasty temper bubbling to the surface. She hastily backed into the bedroom and went to find her dress.

Erik stared blankly in the room, cursing himself for scaring her again. The frustration of his inability to clean up properly and having to stop to rest all the time was taking its toll on his volatile temper. He was about to begin flinging more nicely breakable objects across the room and stopped himself. More crashing about and she might never leave the bedroom.

Frankly, the housekeeping wasn't the only thing bothering him. It had dawned on him that no, she wasn't his. She wasn't his wife, she wouldn't stay and from the pain arching through his body with very beat of his heart, he wouldn't have long to keep her. She'd be returning to that blundering dolt of a husband of hers in time, no matter how miserable that made her. She loved Raoul differently, true, but that didn't alter the fact that she was now trapped between two men again. His evil temper was not improving with this line of thought. Curse that little rat Giry for requesting his help! Curse that old woman of a mother of hers for deciding to bring Christine back into his life! He had been dying quite well on his own without having to worry about the pain of losing Christine again to help! Or the pain of knowing that he was hurting her all over again. Curse Raoul, that idiot! If he hadn't interfered, nothing might have happened! Curse himself for love Christine, for daring to kiss her, make love to her, try to be happy with her!

And curse Christine for coming back at all! Curse her for showing him the love he'd craved for so long, curse her for abandoning him to solitude once more, curse her, curse her, curse her! This time, he couldn't help it. He threw a small sculpture against the wall and picked up something else, pausing when he heard the activity cease from the bedroom.

No, this wasn't helping. It wasn't her fault. He knew she couldn't stay. He had nothing to offer her. He could not make a life for her anywhere, disfigured as he was. He had nothing but music to give her and even he knew you could not survive off music and love alone. Gritting his teeth, blinking tears of hurt and rage from his eyes, he set the object that he had been intending to throw next down on a table next to the music box. It had been a heavy candle, possibly heavy enough to do some very bad damage. Better not to throw it. Instead, he slammed his fists down on the table. The wood groaned and the music box started.

"Erik?" her voice startled him. He turned to face her; she was wearing the dress he had been curled up with when she had found him. With some degree of horror, he noticed it had been the dress she had been wearing when she first had come to his domain with him. The fact obviously hadn't been lost on her, as she fingered the fabric thoughtfully.

"Odd I have to be wearing this. A descent back to hell." She muttered. Something in her voice didn't sound right. Erik took a tentative step towards her.

"Christine, why don't you go sit down and I'll make us something to eat." He coaxed. She looked up at him and he saw something inside her break.

"The…the other dress was…torn." she stuttered. He had seen that look before, in his own eyes, when he had passed his own reflection in a window the night she and Raoul had planned to run away together. He had dropped a chandelier into the audience and, while she could not do that exactly, the outcome was probably not going to be much prettier. He held out a hand to her.

"I know. I will get you another one," he said, desperately trying to calm her down, "Let's sit down. I'll clean up later."

"Oh, Erik, are we to live here? Raoul will want to come. Oh dear, he shouldn't find this place, or could he?" she rambled. She giggled oddly, hysteria creeping into the sound. He turned away, unable to watch her break down. Now he was really angry. And he couldn't curse himself enough! Christine had dropped to the steps and began to laugh hysterically.

"Oh, Erik! I'm the most horrible woman on the Lord's earth! Look what I've done to you and just think of that I'll do to Raoul!" she chuckled. Oh God, she was going crazy.

"Stop, Christine. Calm down." Erik whispered, slowly moving towards her. Her head snapped up and he took a step back. Her eyes were wild, glazed in shock.

"I was in the bedroom thinking about how lovely it was that you and I made love and that I now get to leave you in pieces. Look what I've done to you!" she said, her voice rising.

"Christine, dear, why don't we-"

"Shut up Erik! You think I don't see how you cringe in pain every time you pick something up, you think I don't hear you gasping for breath? It's all my fault that you're _dying_! It's my fault my baby died! It's my fault Raoul hates me!" she ranted, her voice high with hysteria.

"Christine, it isn't your fault. Please, calm down and we'll figure something out." Erik murmured softly, in a voice that used to charm her into docility, the voice of her Angel of Music. She seemed to calm for a moment, before she shook her head madly.

"No, no, I don't deserve it! I don't deserve anything! Nothing! Not after what I've done!" she cried. She let out an unearthly wail and covered her face in her hands, clawing at her skin. Erik crossed the room and snatched her up, trying to restrain her from hurting herself.

"Stop! Christine, please stop!" he shouted, but his voice had no effect. She thrashed in his arms, one of her legs clipped his knees and he toppled to the ground, nearly on top of her. She began to hyperventilate, screaming unceasingly. As he held her, he felt her heart rate skyrocket, as if her heart was about to burst from her chest. Finally, he did the one thing he swore he'd never do in his life. He hit her.

The fact that a blow had landed did as much as the pain to bring Christine out of her hysteria. The world swam for a moment and the screaming in her head ceased. He hadn't struck her with a closed fist, though she could already feel the handprint burning where she'd been slapped. Her vision cleared and she could see Erik's face above hers. He choked, shuddered and launched himself off her. He stumbled over a chair and crashed to the floor.

"I…I'm sorry. I…" he gasped. He seemed on the verge of hysterics himself.

"Erik, we can't continue like this. Please?" she begged. The wheezing was back. He gripped his chest in pain and the mere effort to breathe and he tore the mask off to try to free his mouth to breathe better. For a moment before he regained control, she thought he was going to die right there in front of her. Finally, after a tense moment, his breathing slowed. His eyes finally focused on her.

"I…I never meant to hit you, Christine." he groaned miserably.

"I know," she answered. She was still lightheaded from hyperventilating and her face still stung. She placed a hand on the mark. He shuddered violently and shook his head. He had never laid a violent hand on a woman before, never crossed what he considered the final line of monstrosity. He felt his heart shudder in his chest and found himself willing it to stop beating.

"No, no, I _hit_ you!" he sputtered, childishly, "How can you stay here? What has Raoul done to chase you to a monster like me?" he gasped. Christine reflected for a moment before edging closer to him and taking his hands in hers. He tried to jerk away from her, but she held him with surprising strength.

"Erik, I…I think Raoul blames me." she whispered. Erik's head whipped around and rage marred his face.

"He can't blame you for that! That miserable, imbecilic little…" he snarled, his fists clenching terribly. That wasn't the reaction Christine was hoping for, but it was better than the despair. She motioned him silent.

"After I revived, and learned of the miscarriage, I didn't want to live anymore. I wouldn't eat for days. Erik, I could hear your voice in my head! It gave me back my will to live! I knew that I would return to you someday then!" she finished. He blinked in shock.

"Then stay with me, Christine! Please, stay," he begged. He hated begging, he hated that he had hit her, he hated himself.

"Erik, I can't." she said simply.

"Why, Christine? I'll give you everything you ever wanted, I'll even find a house we can live in, a normal, decent house!" he cried. She shook her head.

"Erik, stop," she said, calmly. He shook her off and staggered away.

"So now you get to leave again. It must be so easy for you, to leave whoever suits you at the time." He snapped. She seemed taken aback by the truth. His breath snared in his chest as hope was dashed away. He had been angry at himself for hitting her and now he was angry at _her_ for all this!

"I knew I have always been yours, and I love you and I want to stay! But circumstances won't allow it." She cried. _Circumstances?_ The sudden thought of the _circumstances_ brought rage bubbling back to Erik's head._ She isn't staying after all!_ He had been a fool to allow himself to think it! No wonder she had gone hysterical! Guilt! And she had every right to feel guilty! He felt himself moving towards the hysteria he had just pulled her away from, only he knew hitting him would not bring him out of it. All the pity he had felt towards her, all the anger towards her husband, evaporated as he felt his heart rip apart. Pain gripped his chest again, spurring his loss of control.

"After all that, those nice words, and…and last night, you'll go back? With how he's treating you now, you'll go back to him? Just as you did _last time_?" he sneered. Oh, it was going to start all over again. He didn't know if it was her fault or his. Still, he was angry at her. And so hurt…

"Yes." she answered simply. Her eyes were locked on the floor in front of her. Through his rage, he noticed she looked like someone who had made a decision they were regretting, but could not undo. _Good!_

"How can you _do_ this to me? You left me behind five years ago, then came back and shattered my life again! Did you mean to torture me like this, allowing you to return to a man who blames you for something no one could have helped? Do you _enjoy _this?" he shouted. She made no motion to placate him this time, which was fine because in his mounting rage he might have actually hurt her and without meaning to. She sat, her head bowed, taking the punishment.

"Oh, I see! You come to me when your husband won't touch you! Because you knew I was sure to do whatever you wanted, whore!" he screamed, reaching for something that hurt. Her head snapped up, offense showing obviously in her eyes.

"Erik, how can-"

"How can I? How can _you_ show me what our love could be and then rip it away again?" he screamed. She was beginning to cry and somehow, he didn't care. Not now, and he couldn't stop. The rage, the pain, it was all clouding his eyes. He suddenly didn't care he had hit her, found himself hoping it hurt. He was so angry he snatched the mask from where it lay on the floor and hurled it at her.

"I gave you your will to live, yet you steal mine away! How can I lose you again? How can I live like this? I don't want this anymore, Christine! I can't stand it! I can't!" he thundered on. He moved towards her and she shut her eyes, expecting another blow. Instead of upsetting him, it made him angrier. He snatched her skirts, balling his fists into the fabric.

"You're going to kill me, you know that?" he growled. He knew he would not hit her again, but he wanted her to know how much he was hurting! She tried to take his hands again, but he let go of her, recoiling as if in horror. She made to try again.

"Erik, please,"

"Don't touch me! Don't talk to me!" he snapped. She reached out and took his arm, and he jerked away and rounded on her, shoving her back roughly.

"Christine, I am very, _very_ angry right now. It'd be healthier for you to leave me alone right now. I hit you once and felt bad for it. I don't trust myself to feel bad now." he growled, his voice dangerously low. She backed away, defeated. She slowly retreated to the bedroom and quietly shut the door.

The world tilted and whirled before his eyes. The need for air thundered in his head. He was strangling and this time there was no help. His heart seemed to seize in his chest. _Oh, don't tease!_ he thought. _I actually want to die this time!_ Ironically, the thought seemed to make his breathing easier. He cast his eyes towards the heavens.

"Such a sense of humor!" he muttered. He lay for a moment on the couch. He could hear Christine sobbing softly in the other room. He couldn't go on doing this to her, or to himself. And as much as he hated that wretched block-head she had married, he knew that Raoul loved her, as angry as he perhaps was. Erik's rage began to subside as the pain arching across his chest blossomed to include his limbs. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he was at once painfully aware he was not wearing his mask. What had he done with it? He sat up, put his head in his hands and tried to settle himself to the fact that he should not be mad at her. She had come seeking comfort. She had probably not thought that he would naively think she should stay. No, she was not being malicious about this, she just hadn't thought in advance. For some reason, the girl had a problem with that when it involved him. Still, she would go back, leave him again, alone and dying like a neglected plant. He had hit her and screamed at her, everything was starting all over again. He remembered his abuses of her the first time he had been with her, when she had pulled off his mask, when she had left him the first time. She had returned seeking the comfort of his voice and his music and he had treated her to the tantrum of a little boy who was not getting what he wanted. The pain in his chest was no longer detectable under the searing pain in his soul. He wound up the music box, with its familiar little monkey and soft tune. He lay back on the couch, willing both pains to ease, listening to the music.

Christine's hands on his face woke him with a start. He had fallen asleep on the couch, lost in thought. She sagged with relief.

"I thought you had died! You scared me so!" she cried, a flash of anger passing over her face.

"No, not yet. How disappointing!" he answered, nonchalantly. She frowned at him, almost scowling.

"Stop talking like that! I can't stand it, Erik! I won't!" she shouted and for a moment she seemed about to slap him in the face. He shot to his feet before her- horrible idea. The world spun and he crashed back to the couch, grasping his chest in agony.

"I was going to remind you not to make me angry again, but obviously that threat is not going to work!" he muttered. She made a little noise that sounded like a delicate snort of laughter. It endeared to him through his anger, but he wasn't going to let her know that!

"Now you're laughing at me!" he snarled, trying to turn his head. She shook her head and took his face in her hands.

"No, but you at least admit you can't do anything. Now listen I have something to tell you." she said. He swallowed. _I've scared her away_, he thought.

"Yes?"

"Erik, perhaps I should not have come. But I needed to see you. I needed to know you were still alive because I love you so much. I'm sorry I've hurt you." she said.

"And Raoul?"

"If he finds out, he finds out. We can't change what we've done." she said matter of factly. _Good Lord, she's taken leave of her senses!_ he thought weakly.

"I have another week. I want to spend it entirely with you." she whispered, drawing him into her arms. He was sure he hadn't heard right, he tried to push her away, but she persisted. He searched her eyes; there was no madness, just determination.

"Christine-"

"For one week, I can be your wife, Erik. I'm all yours for one week." she said with a bright smile.

"Oh, so I throw a tantrum and you give in like a mother spoiling a child. Christine, I don't want it to be like that," he replied nastily. She shook her head.

"No. I'm staying for this week because I want to. Not because you're trying to keep me," she said. This idea of hers might make it all worse for everyone, and he was sure that she'd gone completely mad on him, whether he could see it or not, but he couldn't refuse her. And that smile! It made him remember sunlight, joy, and everything beautiful he'd resigned himself to never having in the world above. Once again, she was not thinking of the cruelty of her actions. But he could not say no.

"For one week, my Christine. One week." he said, cursing himself again for giving in. He laid a careful kiss on her lips and she kissed back softly, her hands delicately pressing him back on the couch.

"Take a nap. I'll make something to eat." she said as she pulled away. She trailed her hands down his arms and kissed his forehead gently before she headed to the kitchen. He pointed feebly at his mask, lying on the floor where he had flung it at her.

"No, Erik. You won't wear that now." She chided quietly, like a nurse gently scolding a patient. She shook herself slightly, as if finally shrugging off a heavy weight, and disappeared around the corner.

He laid back and sighed. As bad an idea as this was, for one week, she was his. Deep down inside, beneath all the doubts and guilt, he was completely happy with that.


	5. Lost in Thought

Christine lay curled on her side, snuggling her back against Erik's body to ward off the pervading cold. He shifted, his arms tightening around her, sighing in his sleep. The deformity of his face nudged her shoulder. She was happy she had gotten rid of the mask and remembered a time, quite long ago, when she had burned one of his masks the first time she had been at home with him. She had been frightened then, more doing it because she thought it would calm him out of hurting her; now, she had done it because she loved him. In fact, she rather liked the feel of his face against her back. She had never felt so at ease, even with Raoul. He never held her when they slept, even before her illness. There was always something held back physically, almost as if he feared to touch her, or make love at all. As if he were afraid she would break. With Erik, while he was always tentative to start, he would always lose himself in her and become unable to control how rough he was. As much as she loved Raoul, Erik would always be her passion. She kissed his forearms and slowly began to think away from the man she had married and to the man she now took as a husband. Erik sighed deeply and nuzzled further into her hair, suddenly sniffling as some of it tickled what passed for his nose. Quietly giggling at the normalcy of such a reaction from him, she rolled over and took him in. His face wasn't so much ugly as merely disturbing to look at. She was somehow surprised at how little she now cared. As she traced the deformed flesh with her fingers, she thought of what his life must have been like, how cold and lonely. Emotion suddenly hit her and she gathered him tightly in her arms, kissing the curve of his neck. She heard his breath suddenly catch and he moved a little away from her. He suddenly realized it was her and relaxed. "I'm sorry, I...just never expect to wake up next to you." he said in a wondering voice. She smiled and continued kissing him. He pulled her close and nearly crushed her against him. As she had learned, more than anything, Erik loved to be cuddled. She pulled him as close to her as she could and snuggled her face into the hollow of his throat, hearing him sigh with contentment. Cruel as she knew this week would be, she was making the most of it if it killed her.

Erik snuggled closer to Christine, rolling in the very scent of her. He loved her so much that his heart hurt to even let go of her for more than a few minutes. He rested his head on her breast and pulled the blankets up around them, as much to fend off the cold as to cover himself. He wasn't used to being naked, even around Christine. She stirred at the motion and sighed. He could hear her breath echo in her lungs, hear her heartbeat- it was all so incredibly comforting. He had never known anything like this; he was warm, happy, and loved. One of her arms curled around him in her sleep. He had never been touched so much in his life; he couldn't get away from the sheer sensation of being touched lovingly. Christine had mentioned her observation that she noticed how he loved to be cuddled more than anything and she couldn't be more right. Just to be held! The feeling was incredible, just to be able to hug close to another human being, to not have them recoil in horror, and not have them hit him or shove him away. The music box started on its own next to the bed. _Sorry, old friend, Christine seems to have taken your place as the comfort in my life_. For three days so far, she had stayed with him, shared his bed, made love to him, helped him clean their living space...although that seemed to mean she tried not to laugh at him while he made desperate attempts not to injure himself cleaning up. They were just like other couples- just for one week. But she was going to leave in 4 more days. The week had been a terrible, masochistic idea. Because now she had made it impossible to let her go, had given him what he had wanted most in his life and had accepted him with love. But she was going to leave, still. There was nothing he could do about it. The thought made him go cold again. He loved her so much that he couldn't conceive of letting go of her. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, but it turned to a frown. "You're shivering, Erik. Oh, Erik, why are you crying?" she asked. She pulled him closer. The warmth of her body almost made him forget the horrible cold settling deep in his heart. How could he let go of her? He settled his head back down and shut his thoughts away. Her body shifted ever so slightly and he knew she was probably thinking the same thing he was.

Erik taught her how to play chess, Christine taught him the English she had been learning, although it didn't last long, since he was better than she was in mere hours. Erik surprised her by discovering a violin and playing for her so they could sing together for hours, although he carefully avoided _Don Juan_, she noticed. He composed an entire song especially for her, though, written so perfectly she knew a stranger would know her perfectly well just from hearing that music.

She attempted to finally perfect making tea, only to finally give up in frustration and storm from the room, followed by Erik's gentle laughter. The next few days passed wonderfully, but always with the cold, certain knowledge that it would end. Erik's health also was another factor cutting so barely into their enjoyment of each other. The wheezing and pains grew more frequent and, as much as he desperately tried to keep it from Christine, he knew she was painfully aware that his time left on earth was short. Erik kept time from a little clock on the mantle and every second that ticked closer to her parting day, he felt himself growing weaker. Yes, her leaving would certainly kill him this time, but he was determined not to let her know. Still, there were arrangements to be made, but he waited until she was asleep before taking care of them. Still, afterwards and every night for a week, he lay in her arms, blissfully happy. Just that was worth it.

Christine stretched and moved slowly out from under Erik. Her sides burned and ached where Erik had been gripping her when they made love the night before and the fabric of her dress irritated it. He was so overjoyed every time they made love- or even just lay in bed together! She knew that this would end in tears, but he was so happy _now_ that she couldn't stop. She loved making him happy. Tomorrow she'd break his heart again. She wished that she didn't have to; she wished she could stay with him forever. But, regardless of what she felt, and what she knew he wanted, she knew she could not stay. She sniffled and wiped her running nose with her handkerchief. The problem with the catacombs was the chill and she knew she was paying for it now. She wondered if he'd even let her go. He very well could keep her prisoner down here; he'd done it before. The odd thing about the little house on the lake was its ability to shut itself up completely; so completely, in fact, that she had been unable to find the door out at all before, just a bare wall where she could have sworn a door had been. She thought about Raoul. He might not even notice that she had never come home. If he did, would he even care? If he did, he'd come crashing down here to save her- what if he killed himself on the way down, what if he killed Erik? Or, worse, what if he brought the authorities? She somehow knew that he would come to "rescue" her, but it would be a matter of pride more than anything else to him. Erik's world, either way, was going to be shattered. She knew that now, her return had set in motion a chain of irreparable events. She should have seen it before and she was angry at herself for being so unspeakably cruel. She thought of leaving before he woke up. Perhaps that would be better, to not give him a chance to capture her, or perhaps even convince her to stay. Selfishly, she reasoned that it would spare her that longing, pleading, sorrowful look in his eyes. Save her own heart from being broken. Or perhaps she should stay. She knew Erik would do anything for her. Perhaps this was really where she belonged.

As she turned to the now-repaired kitchen, stifling another sniffle –although this time she couldn't tell if it was the cold or her thoughts- she caught sight of a note that had been shoved under the door. It was water-stained and crumpled. _C E __Raoul knows you are here. He has just arrived at the flat and is threatening horrible things! I swear I didn't confess anything, but he is determined to find his way to Erik's house! We've stalled him, locked him in my room! My poor ill mother has ordered everyone to watch the door and not free him, but it will eventually happen! He is making the most terrible racket and will bring the landlord down on us for sure! We can't hold him for long! __Meg __Giry_ That answered that question.

Erik was awake and dressed already when Christine burst into the room. She nearly launched herself across the room, frantic, tripping over her skirts as she ran. "He knows we're here! I have to leave now!" she gasped. Her face was chalky and she looked ready to faint. She raced around the room, gathering up her things, running headlong into him in the process. She bounced off, landing flat on her backside on the carpet with a squeal. He just stood and stared at her. She blinked up at him, staring. "Erik? How can you just stand there! We must leave! Raoul is at the Giry's and he'll-""I know, Christine." he said, pulling her to her feet. He led her gently toward the front door and took her in his arms, kissing her so passionately she forgot anything else existed in the world for one moment."I sent for him. Wait outside." he whispered against her cheek as he pulled away. She stared at him in shock. He pushed the door open with one arm and held her to him once more with his other. She was so dumb with shock she did not react to him. "I love you. I'm so sorry!" he cried and flung her through the open door.


	6. Farewell

She hit the stone floor, but barely felt it. The shock was drowning. Erik had sent for Raoul? How had he found him? When had he done it? Above all else, why? She threw herself at the door. "Erik! Why have you done this? Why?" she screamed. She beat her fists against the door furiously. "Christine, please stop that. You'll hurt yourself. Raoul will be here for you soon. I couldn't let you go by sheer force of my own will, my love. I had to have him take you from me. Again." came the quiet reply, strangely auditable through the wall. "Christine, I love having you here, but I can't let you stay. You've caught a cold from the chill down here, and I won't have you growing ill and dying. Not when I was to die first. You gave me love, a light in the dark. You've given me more than I could have ever hoped for in my life. I didn't want to risk keeping you, or giving in if you asked to stay.""Erik, I swear I'll leave on my own! Please let me back in!" she shrieked."No! I can't! I can't tear you away from me again, Christine! I can't let you stay; I can't do that to you! I can't do that to myself!" Erik screamed. There was a sudden thud as his fist slammed the wall. The pounding continued, punctuated with cries of sorrow and rage. Christine sat down and began to cry anew, her hands clapped over her ears in a vain attempt to shut out Erik's pain. The punching stopped suddenly, the sudden silence overpowering in her ears.

"I love you, Christine. He can give you the world. Let him." he murmured, not really sure if she heard him at all.

Inside, Erik curled up on the floor and struggled once again to breathe. Christine had stopped beating the door. He worried that she had hurt herself, broken a bone in her hand, perhaps? What if she had fainted and, in falling, hit her head? He almost threw the door open to scoop his love back inside forever. But he would not. The bruises on his own knuckles reminded him of the anger, the pain. Why he had to let her go.

He tried to stand, pulling himself along the wall. Pain from his right hand shot up his arm. He wouldn't be surprised if he was the one who had broken a finger. A quick glance confirmed this; his middle and index fingers were deep purple and swelling grotesquely and the left hand looked worse. He found he could barely feel anything down his left arm. Not that it mattered. Christine was gone and he wouldn't survive this last seizure anyway. His heart seemed to twist within his chest, his lungs shuddered. The crushing pain slammed into him, flooding his chest and knocking him to the floor. Bile bubbled up in his throat and he threw up before collapsing completely, the mask falling from his face. A seizure ripped through his body and he jerked in pain. His teeth clamped shut in pain, tearing through a part of his cheek. Blood poured from his mouth. The pain clenched in his chest before exploding through his arms and stomach. Now, he didn't care. She had given him all he had ever wanted- he was going to die happy. He shut his eyes and waited to die.

Christine lay with her head against the door. She could hear him wheezing painfully on the other side. Sorrow welled in her heart. He was doing this for her, hurting himself, _killing_ himself, all for her. That was how much he loved her. She would never find this again. Whoever else she loved, however else Raoul treated her, how many children, people, went in and out of her life, Erik would be her angel. She pressed her face against the wall, struggling to hear a sign of life from the other side of the door. As she did, the sliding wall hiding the door came loose. It slid away enough to expose the door. She pulled it open a crack. Now she could hear labored breathing. She slid herself inside and her hand caught the side of Erik's leg. He lay on his side a few feet away from the door, curled into a fetal position, clutching his chest. Vomit and blood had pooled under his head and his breathing was shallow. She called his name, but his eyes did not open. Christine grabbed his wrist, gasping at the ugly bruises marring the flesh of his hands; she found his pulse and dropped his wrist and what she felt.

"Oh, Erik!" she cried and tried to pull him closer to her. He suddenly twisted in her hands. Blood sprayed from his mouth and his breath caught in a horrible gurgle.

"Stop, please! Let me be! I can't-" he gasped deliriously. His eyes rolled in his head, unfocused and wild. She leaned over him, gently touching his face.

"I'm here, Erik. I love you." she whispered. He relaxed in her arms. His eyes suddenly focused on her, wide with shock and pain. They swam in and out of focus, bright with shock, before he recognized who she was. She was humming to him, strains of the song he had written for her in this wonderful week. Suddenly, full consciousness struck like icy water! _How did she get back in?_

Oh God- he must have forgotten to shut the wall all the way in his pain. No, no, she couldn't watch this! He had to get away from her! He made to move away, but the pain from his hands created flashes of light in front of his eyes. Momentarily blind, lost to the taste of blood and vomit in his mouth, the flaring sheet of pain across his chest, and the desperate thought that _he could not let Christine see him die_!

"No, Christine! I-I told you..." he gasped. His vision began to clear and she was sitting near him, leaned over him and held him tight, completely calm. Pain struck again, his body bucked forwards, lost in the seizure. His hands clawed at his chest, trying to pry his heart away from the pain. His body convulsed terribly. His mind whirled in agony. Blood flecked his lips, staining her dress. Christine calmly held him in her arms, riding out the convulsion. Bile surged up in his throat again and she held his head to the side and let him vomit, calm and quiet as a little nurse.

"Hush, it's alright." she said, stroking his hair. How could she be so calm?

"How can you watch me like this?" he rasped. Her features creased sorrowfully, just for a moment, but regained their composure.

"I love you. I won't let you die alone, my love." she answered. She curled him onto her lap, seemingly ignoring his weight and the blood staining her dress. Erik stared up at her, her tears falling on his face, tracing down the mottled flesh that he was now no longer ashamed of. She laid her hand on his cheek and rested his head on her shoulder.

"Oh, Christine..." he whispered. His breath wheezed violently, more shallow than ever, yet he gazed up at her with complete joy. She smiled at him through her tears, the love in her eyes made everything in his life, the humiliation, the shame, the loneliness- now it was all worth it.

"You'll never be alone again, Erik." she whispered. Tear spilled from her eyes and she held him close, gathering him into her arms. He weakly nuzzled closer into her neck and shut his eyes. The pain was ebbing away now, giving way to a kind of numbness. Through the enclosing dark, he could not hear she was softly singing to him in that voice he had nurtured so carefully. No, he just barely could hear her heartbeat, that wonderful, comforting sound. He slid out of consciousness, listening to that beautiful rhythm, finally completely at peace.

Erik's breathing slowed and then, with a final sigh, stopped completely. His body relaxed, his hands dropped away from hers. Christine finally allowed herself to shake. She buried her face in Erik's hair and wept, her tears washing over the face that had so shattered his life. She held him close, unable and unwilling to let him go. She shut her eyes and prayed to God that, whatever crimes he may have committed in his life, that he would enter Heaven. For how could her Angel deserve anything less?

Raoul arrived, sputtering curses at the small boat he was in. Obviously a spare patched together at the last minute! The damned monster was planning to drown him!

The door was ajar when he arrived and he could hear muffled sobs from inside. In the back of his mind even he knew that the Phantom would never hurt Christine, but part of him panicked anyway. He rushed through the door and found Christine, her head bent over the crumpled form of the Phantom, weeping. She was singing something, a soft unfamiliar tune. Her voice was hoarse and trembling through the sobs wracking her body.

She didn't notice him at first and the scene so fascinated him he made no move. The tenderness with which she cradled the man's body and the tears which spilled onto the mangled face spoke silently of such love that, although he fully expected to be even angrier now, he found no rage in his heart. His wife herself looked like a crushed flower, bent and broken under her own sorrow. He knelt beside her and touched her shoulder, careful not to touch the Phantom's body. She neither startled nor looked up, but let out a small, tired sigh.

"You've come to take me home? After all this? What did he tell you?" she asked, her voice raspy and uneven.

"Yes, "he answered. "I was all prepared to come crashing in and rescue you. I had come home early and discovered you gone. I came to the Giry's, believing you there. The old woman is recovering, I might add! He sent me a letter there."

"No need." she said, simply.

"I see. The Phantom-"

"Erik." she corrected, flatly.

"I'm sorry. _Erik_ told me you had come to him a week ago, and decided to stay. What else I discover would be up to you. He bade me to forgive you, he blamed himself." said Raoul. He bent closer. She was cradling Erik on her lap, one arm around his thin shoulders, and the rest of his body lying on her legs. Blood stained her dress and the floor around her. It had obviously not been an easy passage. Her free hand stroked the deformed side of the face with no fear. She had obviously been in this position for some time; her arms shook with the effort to remain holding him, and there was a stiffness to the way she moved her head and hands.

"I don't know if he ever forgave himself." Christine said quietly. A fresh sob shook her thin body.

"But I think he died happy. He wasn't alone. I think that's all he wanted for himself." she added, a small note of relief passing into her voice. Suddenly Raoul realized why he loved her so much- that compassion, that care! He could no longer bring himself to hate the man who had nearly destroyed their lives, and found himself feeling oddly sad for the poor creature.

"We…we should bury him, don't you think?" he asked. For the first time, Christine looked up at him, her beautiful blue eyes clouded with tears and red from weeping. She stared up at him with such gratitude it almost brought him to tears.

"It wouldn't do to leave…to leave Erik just in here. He deserves something better. For you- because I know how much you loved him." he said. She gave him a ghost of a smile and nodded. He helped her struggle to her feet and to carefully place Erik's body on the floor. Christine went to the door, but Raoul stopped her.

"No. I'll bury him, if you'll allow me. You should rest. If there's anything you want to take, go find it." he said. Christine smiled weakly again and nodded. She moved deeper within the house, silently as a ghost herself. Raoul gazed down at the man he had once hated with such venom as to want him dead. Now that he had his wish, he nearly wanted him back. Christine had loved him so deeply and cared for him so much. Even the disturbing face held no disgust for him- he only beheld the face of the man his wife had loved- possibly more than she loved him. He knelt by the body and, after a moment, put a hand on Erik's shoulder.

"Well, old chap, I only hope I can someday be worthy of the kind of love she afforded you. Rest in peace, Erik." he whispered.

The burial was finished, no markings, far back in the catacombs. Raoul's arms trembled with the effort of digging and the emotional drain of just _watching_ Christine's mourning. Christine's eyes finally looked no longer haunted, just tired and sad. Before they laid Erik to his final rest, she had slipped her wedding band, a plain little gold ring, onto his little finger. Raoul nearly stopped her, and then realized the mark of love she wanted to leave to him. After the hole had been filled in, she had requested he give her a moment alone at the grave. She had disappeared for some time and when she returned, she explained that she had left the music box playing at his grave. "It always seemed to comfort him." she said without being asked. Raoul noticed Christine had taken nothing from the house, save a single piece of sheet music and Erik's mask, both of which she clutched as if they were pieces of her very soul.

"It's…I….he never had a portrait and…" she stammered she noticed he was looking at them. She sniffled quietly and said nothing else until they arrived at the Girys' flat. She spoke to Meg and Mme Giry briefly -the horrid old woman was making a fast recovery _now -_ and excused herself, saying she very much wanted to go home. When he suggested a hotel, she insisted on going right home. She looked washed out in the light of day and she pulled up the hood of her cloak against the sun.

When they finally arrived home, she hurried up to bed and locked him out of the room, leaving him to reflect on the events of the week. He had arrived home from New York with an armload of presents for her and nearly ready to murder someone when he found out where she had gone. The Girys would probably take some time to forgive him, since he had had to bribe the landlord to prevent them from being evicted; that letter from Erik did nothing to help his temper. Still, when he had arrived to find her mourning Erik's death, he simply could not be angry- as hard as he was trying to be. He had thought over his behavior for some time and had come to grips with the grief that had overpowered everything in his life. He had been expected to have children in his family; since the death of his brother, he was the remaining son, expected to pass on the family name. He had been so bitter when she had lost the child, he had taken it out on his poor Christine. As he thought more, after arriving home to find her gone, he didn't wonder she had run to Erik. He had certainly been angry, but he didn't blame her. He couldn't be angry with her, or Erik, for that matter- a fact that surprised him greatly. He couldn't be angry at such love, not what he had been such a beast to her. He picked through the presents he had gotten for her and tried to think of a way to try to win that love from her.

It had been a month since she buried Erik and left him under the Opera House, where he had lived and where he had loved her. She hadn't let Raoul back into the bedroom with her; he had been sleeping in the guest room. She kept thinking back to her angel and how she would miss him, now that she was alone in that echoing silence.She drifted through the house, wearing black, like a lost soul, speaking to no one, eating only enough to keep herself alive. She made no noise at all unless it was to sing and even that she did alone, still recovering from the intensity of what had happened to her. She heard the servants whispering behind her in the halls, but she didn't care. If she had her way, she would have everyone run out of the house and leave her alone. For she no longer heard his voice in her head, she felt completely alone. An empty house would not even faze her now. Her emptiness felt so complete and the pain so deep she felt as if she had lost part of herself- she had not felt this way since her father had died. The mask and the sheet music went into a little carved wooden box, a gift Raoul had brought home from New York. She locked it shut, trying somehow to lock away the pain of her loss.

Raoul was concerned about the self-induced solitude his wife had sunk into since she had come home. Still, he let her mourn, only offering help when she asked- the only thing she asked for was a tome of sheet music she could not reach by herself, or perhaps to draw the curtains of her room. He knew there was nothing he could do to heal what needed to progress on its own. The shadows beneath her eyes deepened and her skin only grew paler and she grew thinner and thinner by the day. With some shock, he noticed she was beginning to look more and more like Erik. He was careful not to mention this to her, allowing her to haunt the house. She spent hours in the music room, her voice floating chillingly up through the house, but always familiar songs, never the sheet music she had taken from Erik's house. She also never sang anything but requiems or songs of loss. She would sing herself hoarse, seemingly warding off the sudden silence of her grief. When she was not singing, or when her voice finally gave out, she retreated to the library, locking herself in until the light and candles failed her. Even still, she didn't seem to sleep. Suddenly, nearly a month after they had left Paris once more, her mood brightened. The shadows vanished and she began to eat fully again. He was overjoyed, relieved that she had finally overcome her grief.

But he was still unprepared for her to announce to him that she was pregnant.


	7. Remembrance

It came to her as a shock as well, but now there was no denying it. Morning sickness, tenderness everywhere on her body: she was pregnant. There was also no denying who the father was, not now. Although there was no choice, she hated to tell Raoul. Although he had been quiet since Erik's death, she wasn't sure how he would react. Could he accept a child that was not his? Then it struck her: this was _Erik's_ child. Fear and joy overcame her all at once: would this child be disfigured like its father, perhaps a musical genius, or designer? Or might it not be born at all, miscarried like the last poor child she had carried. Immediately she launched herself into a newfound will to live. She began to eat again, not that she could help it- her body was screaming for food. She began wearing colors again and going outside. Raoul took the news better than she thought, sweeping her up in his arms, then catching himself and setting her gently down. "Do you mind?" she asked. He frowned at her. "Mind? Mind what?" he asked. "That it's not your child?" she asked. He stepped back a little, obviously he hadn't thought of that. He sighed and looked at her. "Christine, it's _your_ child. Being that the father has...passed away, I will think of it as mine." he said quietly. The joy was overwhelming and she fell weeping into his arms. Erik was not lost to her!

The birth was terrible. After 9 months of waiting, the red haze of pain clouded Christine's eyes against all else. She clung madly to the pillow, twisting her fingers into her own hair. Even the midwife was getting concerned.

"I say! It shouldn't be taking this long!" the old woman clucked. Christine's mouth filled with several curses that only the strangling pain quieted. Raoul had long since been sent from the room and now she was alone, alone with this horrible old cow and the tearing agony. The midwife reached between her legs once more. Oh God, how long have I been like this? Christine thought deliriously. The clock said 11, but that meant nothing to her. The pain had become timeless and she feared she would never be free of it again.

"Hmmm...I think I finally see the problem!" the old woman said, almost cheerily. Christine could have killed her. Without warning, the midwife's hands acted quickly and Christine was flung into a deeper whirlpool of agony. Spots flashed in her eyes, but she seemed unable to faint away. She could barely sense the midwife working furiously, felt something move between her legs.

"Oh no! No, no!" she heard the midwife cry. It seemed so far away now, even the pain was easing. She didn't care what was happening to her anymore. She felt as if she was floating, floating far away...

Suddenly it was there, Erik's voice singing in her head. Singing for the child inside her and reminding her that she had to live, singing the song he had written for her, to let her know he loved her. Erik's sweet voice spinning in her head, bringing her back to herself.

The pain washed over her like a relentless wave. The smell of blood and the sea-water smell of afterbirth assaulted her senses.

"Push, damn you! Push!" the midwife was shouting at her. Almost without thinking, she pushed, pushed against the life within her- a life she would not give up on, ever! There was a sudden odd feeling of her lower body coming loose, but then the pain renewed.

"Come on! Again, now girl! Keep going!" the midwife was yelling at her. Determined to have this entire bloody affair over with now, Christine pushed with all her strength and there was a strange tearing feeling and...Everything was quiet. She collapsed back, shivering from the effort. Oh God! There was no cry, just silence! _Was it dead_? Tears of fear sprang into Christine's eyes.

"Was it a boy or girl?" she asked. The midwife didn't answer. Panic struck Christine like a bucket of water. No cry, no soft sound of life. Oh God no!

"Ma'am? Please?" she begged, her voice rising. First the unborn child, then Erik- Oh, God if this child...Suddenly there was a tiny squalling, a bleat of indignant shock. Then another...a different cry...

"Twins, mum! You've had twins! A boy and a girl! Fancy that! Both breathing, they're both alive!" the midwife announced.

"Twins? _Two_?" Christine gasped in shock.

"Well, 'twins' normally means two. Why, did you want three?" the old woman asked teasingly.

"Good Lord, no..." Christine answered as her daughter was placed in her arms. The midwife sat next to her, cradling her son.

"Lovely little devils, aren't they? Daresay they'll be adorable children!" the midwife chuckled. Christine was still reeling with the shock of two at once. But yes, they were beautiful. Erik would have been proud. Twins! Now that would have appealed to his curiosity!

"Hope you like these two, I'd suggest no more after this birth." said the midwife.

"No, no, I'm happy now. With just these two." Christine told her, allowing the baby to find her breast. Two of Erik's children- two perfect children! Raoul was never going to believe this, and somehow she felt that Erik, wherever he was, was overjoyed.

"You know, the little prince here almost didn't make it- blue as a jay he was when he came out. But, funny, it's like I heard music and he suddenly took his breath. Odd, isn't it?" the old woman said.

"No, ma'am. I think I heard it too." Christine said, smiling. As the midwife went to get Raoul, under a promise that she would let it be a full surprise, Christine gazed down at her two children.

"Erik, meet your children. Erik and Meg. Aren't they beautiful?" she asked the night. As a cool, comforting breeze drifted through the room, she thought she heard it whisper her name...and laugh with joy.

5 years had passed. Erik was pounding the piano with fervor...just no tune. The dissonance crashed through the music room. "Mama! Sing with me!" he yelled as loud as he could. Christine looked up from her own music in time to see Erik's sister give him a shove- nearly straight off the piano bench. "Mama's busy! Stop yelling!" the little girl scolded indignantly. Erik pushed back and his smaller sister _did_ fly off the bench. A sharp chorus of "Mama!"'s arose. "Children, please stop!" Christine scolded, lifting Meg from the floor, then having to restrain the girl when she tried to get revenge. _Lord in heaven, zookeepers probably have it easier with the monkeys! _she thought. She wondered if Erik had been difficult when he was young.

Things had a habit of vanishing when little Erik was around and being rediscovered -usually dismantled- sometime later. Books far beyond a five year old constantly appeared in Meg's room. Meg also had a vast collection of music boxes in her room. The sight of a music box was nearly the only thing besides her brother that could get her to throw a typical childish tantrum. If she saw one, she _had_ to have it, to the point that the family was beginning to avoid a certain street because it contained a shop that sold music boxes. Currently, her brother's dearest ambition was to build one for her...at _five_ years old! The failed attempts were strewn across the workbench in a small shed out in the yard. Failure brought on his tantrums- if he failed to understand something immediately, he would actually pound on the floor and scream to make the very heavens shake. They could both be very serious children- serious and focused. They had just begun a primer school and had already shocked all their teachers. Their capacity to learn was amazing, as was their patience. Just not with each other. "Mama! He BIT me!" Meg shrieked. "I did not! You're lying!" Erik shouted indignantly. Christine sighed. She wondered how Erik would have fared with these two. "Children, please stop fighting! Let me tell you about the Angel of Music." she sputtered desperately. That caught their attention. She never got over Erik's eyes; when he was a baby and his eye color had finally settled, they settled unevenly. One eye was bright, icy blue and the other was an odd hazel color. A passing resemblance to his father, she supposed. The mismatched eyes focused her with the utmost concentration. "Yes, tell us about Erik!" Meg exclaimed, climbing into Christine's lap. Although Erik scowled at his sister getting the coveted spot on Christine's lap, the promise of a tale of the Angel was too precious to jeopardize with an argument. "When my father went to Heaven," she began, "he told me he would send me the Angel of Music. He kept his promise, but not in quite the way I thought he would..." "And that's how you met Erik, Mama! Who I am named for!" little Erik finished. They both knew the tale by heart. "Yes, love. That's how I met Erik." Christine finished. No, Erik would never be forgotten- she knew that as she gazed into her son's off-color eyes.

"Erik, do you ever get tired of playing that same thing?" Meg asked her brother. Her brother chuckled and stretched his spindly legs out under the piano. "Not anymore than you get tired of that boring but, -oh, how did you put it?-'dreamy' snoot what's-his-name you've been making puppy-eyes at." he answered. Meg blushed and turned her head. Her brother playfully slapped the keyboard, releasing an ugly discord and winked at her. "You're seventeen, not seven! Stop!" she scolded. She never really was angry at him, though. She watched him, thinking. While she looked almost like a copy of her mother, he did not look like either of their parents. Not to mention his _eyes_. One blue, one hazel, they were an absolutely fascination to everyone who encountered him.

Erik had grown to be very tall, now taller by far than even their father. He was thin, almost to the point of looking malnourished (although Meg herself could testify against that; she'd had to protect her plate from him at many a dinner) with long thin fingers that seemed perfectly at home on the piano. Although he was incredibly popular at school and many of the girls in their class were quite enamored with him, he didn't seem to care, so long as he had his music. Meg herself was tall for a woman, almost as tall as their father. While she looked very much like their mother, her hair did not have the thick curl Christine's did- hers fell straight and fine down her back and she had really no proficiency for voice. She was a born dancer, ballet coming to her as easily as walking. She would be leaving for the ballet academy in the fall and Erik would be going to a music conservatory. She wondered how she would fare without her brother, born mere minutes before she. She also wondered how her mother would fare, as Christine was so distraught whenever her children were out of her sight, almost smothering them with her need to always have them nearby. Erik hit another discord on the piano to snap her away from her thoughts.

"Erik, I am _begging _you to play something else!" she protested. Her brother shrugged at her frown and began playing something different, playing that odd song, the one he had been playing for almost a week, since their birthday. Their mother rushed into the room, looking pale. "Erik, where did you hear that? Did you find it somewhere?" she demanded, her eyes twitching to the little box on the mantle. She didn't seem angry, just distraught. "I don't know. I thought I just made it up. Why?" her son asked, staring up at her. Meg stared curiously at her mother. "What's the matter?" she asked. Their mother's eyes filled with tears and she slowly lowered herself into a chair. Meg sprang to her feet, concerned. "Mother, what's the matter?" she repeated. Her mother shuddered for a moment, and then looked up at her. "_Erik_ used to play that. He wrote it for me. I put it away before you were born. How could you ever hear it?" she whispered. Erik's head tilted to the side, looking very much like their pet spaniel when it was confused. "Erik? The man you used to tell us about? Wasn't he just a story you and Aunt Meg made up? You made it sound like just an adventure to keep us entertained when we were little." he said. Their father edged into the room, looking very sad. "No. Erik was a real man. You're old enough for me to tell you the real story now, and I think you should hear it. I think you should hear about your father." he said. Meg stared at her father and Erik turned pale. "Mother?" she whispered. "There is a lot to tell, darlings. I promised myself that your father would never be lost. That he would never be forgotten. Sit down, dears, there is a lot to tell." As she spoke, she slowly removed the small wooden box she kept on the mantle, one she had always kept locked. Inside was a piece of sheet music and a mask. As she touched it, she swore she heard Erik's voice again. As she started into the tale, Christine's son could also swear he heard the distant sound of a soft man's voice singing in the wind, whispering his mother's name.

The End


End file.
